Behind the Mask
by TheSpriteOfJayum
Summary: One Friday night in the bar a certain masked Supernova walks in. Killer x Reader.


**Wowsers! A "reader" pairing fanfic, featuring my favorite Supernova. Anyhoo, I hope you like this…roll film!**

You sit down on a single wooden bench near the entryway of the town's little tavern. Today was another crazy day out of the last equally crazy five days. It's still crazy as the tavern's nearly bursting at its seams, the echoes of people sounding from the booths and tables like an off-key orchestra.

Frustrated at the population of the building, you were supposed to think, "Thank God it's Friday." Instead, you think, "Well, duh, it's Friday," as you rest your upper head in the palm of your hand. You toss aside a dangling lock of hair from your face. Minutes later, you're still frazzled from the day, but content with the fact that you're starting to relax. That little mental vacation came to a pause when a young man in a waiter's uniform approaches you, his back straight as a ruler and impressively professional demeanor despite working in a meager local tavern.

"How many, miss?" He asks you.

"Party of one, just me." You respond, lightly smiling. He gestures you to follow him and shows you a row of barstools.

"Will one of these be all right, miss?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." You shrug your shoulders and let yourself barely sink into the crudely plush leather seat of one of the barstools.

On the other side of the long wooden counter-table, the cute bartender in her mid-early twenties is busy with at least two other customers. While she's taking orders, one of the customers, a man in his forties, flirts with her and twists a strand of her blond hair around his index finger. You feel sorry for the poor darling as she snatches her hair out of the man's hand. With that little vein in her forehead, everyone in the room can tell that she wants nothing more than to slap him. But if she did, she'd most likely get sacked. This scenario makes you feel even sorrier for her.

The customer next to him snickers while the middle-aged pervert wasn't looking. Bored, you turn your head in the other direction. You notice that four tall men have just walked in and are where you were five minutes ago. A man from one of the Long-Arm Tribes walks in and tells the same uniformed man how many people are in his party.

Luckily, they manage to find a booth within a VERY short amount of time. The three other men follow the oriental-style dressed man. One of the men has long wavy blond hair and dressed in a peculiar sense of fashion. Albeit, he looks a bit effeminate—but not to the point of looking like an okama. With a brood on his profile, he shuffles a deck of tarot cards, the rapid, blurry flight of cards making you want to watch more. Which you do, but not at him. On each side of the magic man there is a rather muscular man, both of who which look like they're members of a heavy metal band. One has blood-red wavy hair, a large, crude, metal prosthetic left arm, and a dark, sinister faint grin on his red-decked lips, making you shudder and hold yourself. One look at him and you know right away you don't want to mess up with this man. The other has shaggy, long blond hair, but you notice one distinct thing about this man—he wears a mask of blue-and-white stripes with two columns and one row of holes through its surface.

 _Okay._ You think to yourself. _Nothing more to see here._ You turn your head away from the site to face the bartender.

"Can I help you?" She asks you.

You answer her with the name of your favorite drink.

"One [favorite drink], comin' right up!" She chimes before marching off to the various bottles of alcohol.

Looking at the wall to your left, you review the menagerie of wanted posters. You're in the New World, so it was pretty common to see bounties over 100,000,000 beli. Anyone with 300,000,000 and up was pretty impressive, the type of people you might hide from and pray to your personal god that nothing goes wrong between you and them.

To your surprise, you hear the faint hiss of air released from the barstool next to you. You take a quick glance as to who has chosen that seat. After a split second, you turn your head back, almost wishing you didn't look. You bite down on your lower lip and try to hide your shock. The claimer to that seat is the masked man.

You thank your lucky stars his sheath of scythes is resting on his right hip away from you. You don't want to scoot away as that would be rude. Plus you have no desire for the risk of ticking him off and getting yourself fit for a halo. You keep your cool and are somewhat relieved when the bartender delivers your [favorite drink].

"And what would you like, sir?" The bartender asks the man casually as if he were just some ordinary guy off the streets.

"I'll take a glass of sake." The masked man replies.

"Alrightie; one moment." She turns around to grab a tall glass and dispenses the alcohol into the vessel from a large wooden barrel.

You sip out of your own glass and watch the sake-filled glass served to the man. You continue to sip and stare at your drink and act casual.

"Ma'am…ma'am…" You hear him repeat and clear his throat. It takes you a second to realize he's talking to you.

"Oh! Yeah?" You respond.

"Could you pass down a straw?" He asks.

"Sure." You answer. You grab a straw from the old-fashioned case of wrapped straws, which is an arm's length away from you.

"Thanks." He says, pulling off the wrapper and sinking most of the straw into his sake.

"Don't mention it." You smile and watch him sip.

"What's that?" He asks you out of the blue. You were just happening to take another sip of your [favorite drink], and with that kind of surprise you nearly spew out what's in your mouth. "Is that [your favorite drink]?"

"Yes." Absent-mindedly, you continue. "Wanna sip?"

"You sure?" He asks after a pause.

"Yes! Go right ahead." Slips off your tongue. You're shocked by what you just said. Well, no turning back now. You slide your glass in front of him. There is another awkward pause as you remember his habit with drinking through straws and quickly snatch another straw.

"Sorry." You mutter as you slip the straw into your beverage.

"S'okay." He assure in a mutter. Without any struggle or hassling like he's done this a thousand times (which you bet he has), he slips the bent top of the straw through one of the many holes in his mask. Your straw turns a darker shade for a few seconds. He proceeds to stop sipping and tell you, "It's good."

You smile with a small sense of pride in yourself. He turns his head to look behind himself. Curiously, you turn your head in the same direction. You find the three men from earlier sitting around a round table. The redheaded pirate is impatiently biting down on his lower lip. Looking at the trolling grin on the long-armed man, you figure out that the latter is enjoying this and is probably the culprit behind the ticked off expression of the angry former. The enigmatic supposed mystic is calmly shuffling his cards again, even though you can vaguely tell he's getting disgusted by the uprising potential quarrel.

"I hope they don't start a war." The masked man mutters.

"I'm guessing you're with them." You theorize out loud after about half a minute of silence.

"Yes, yes I am." He confirms. "The one with the mechanical arm is my captain." He continues to watch his associates.

You recognize him from the wanted posters and news stories just about everywhere you see. _Eustass "Captain" Kid._ You mentally remember the captain's name. Your heart rises into your throat. Your body tenses. You take in a deep breath.

"I'm only here because it's pretty cramped in there."

"So…" You say. "You're a pirate, I take it."

"That I am." He answers casually.

"Your name, pirate?" You probably know who he is, but you want to be sure.

"Killer, but most folks in the world calls me 'The Massacre Soldier'. What's yours?"

"[Your name], no epithet following."

Killer briefly chuckles at your latter response. "It's very nice meeting you, Miss [your name]."

You quietly chuckle. "Likewise, Mr. Killer." You both return to sipping your drinks while he's still keeping an eye on his comrades. You're almost done with your [favorite beverage] and notice that he's finished off his sake in a short amount of time.

"Do you want the last of this?" You offer.

"No thanks; that's fine. You go ahead."

"No, _you_ have it." You insist by pursing your lips together tightly and giving him a slight evil eye.

"It's okay; you have it."

"Please?" Your expression loosens.

"You sure?"

"Yes." You slide your glass his way, smiling.

You don't watch him drinking but hear the gentle slurping. You observe his muscular body and the multiple widespread scars on his left arm. A small, scraggly goatee peeks out from inside the bottom of his blue-and-white striped mask. You wonder what's behind that mask. Deep down inside yourself, you bet anything there's a handsome, very macho but handsome, profile being hidden.

"I had a very nice evening with you, [your name]." Killer tells you warmly.

You notice that except for the bartender, you're both alone at the bar. Just you and the pirate. You notice something. Something you never expected.

The Massacre Soldier is taking off his mask.

He holds a calm expression on his face, yet his blue-grey eyes sparkle as they look into your eyes. He is handsome, very macho but handsome.

Killer pulls you into his arms and presses his lips against yours. You're surprised all right but the passion inside you takes over your will, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around his thick neck. A mass of euphoria bubbles up inside you like the combination of a ton of baking soda and a cement mixer full of vinegar. How you don't want to leave this.

He finally pulls back. He warmly smiles, and you smile back in return. He quickly puts his mask back on and ties the metallic clasps back together.

"YOU IDIOTS! BLASTED, WRETCHED IMBECILES!" You hear a man shout across from about where Killer's comrades are. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU BOTH RIGHT HERE AND RIGHT NOW!" The sounds of a table and dishes being pounded on and shattered into wooden splinters and glass shards blasted across the tavern.

"There he goes again." Killer sighs impatiently. A table comes flying in your direction, and you two duck and cover your heads. It flies past you and crashes into the long mirror in the bar. He turns back to you. "I'd recommend you leaving this place altogether. Please, right now." You reach into your purse to pay the now absent bartender. Before you lay a few beli bills down, he stops your hand as he lays down a portion of his money. "It's on me tonight."

He strokes your cheek and part of your hair. "Goodbye. I hope to see you again someday."

"Me too." You respond breathlessly. "Goodbye." He runs off like a soldier in combat in the direction where his captain has begun a brawl.

You evacuate with the rest of the customers and seek the shelter of a bench about fifty feet away from the entrance. People are still running past you, but you stay put on the bench. You hear more glass, wood, and whatnot break and crash inside the tavern, and wasn't that an explosion you just heard? You watch at least one of the large tavern windows break and a mushroom cloud come out of the wooden roof—yes, you _did_ hear an explosion.

Despite all the chaos, you want to stay. But for some seemingly odd reason the most important thing in this moment is to obey the Massacre Soldier's orders. You don't know for sure when or if you'll see him again.

But even still, would you never forget what happened tonight at the bar? Who you met there?

Of course not. And you would always remember what lay behind the mask.

 **One Piece © Eiichiro Oda**


End file.
